


The Knocking at the Gate

by Gwalchmei



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwalchmei/pseuds/Gwalchmei
Summary: Will has made it to Cuba, dragging his specters along with him. It’s been a bumpy ride. But with some semblance of normal in his life, there's not much he can do when someone comes knocking.orWill's life, post-fall to actualization.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

They fell. The wind whipped past his head, sounds carried away from his ears. There was nothing but him and Hannibal. His hands bunched in the back of his shirt, it was soaked through with blood. Will’s nose was nestled into the curve of his neck. Remarkably, Hannibal hadn’t struggled throughout the entire drop. He had let himself be tipped over the side. He had let himself be the buffer between Will and the piercing wind. He was content to be the fodder in the war for Will’s heart. 

Only feet from the thrashing water, Will’s body tensed and braced for impact. The waves were a road of asphalt, no different than if they had fallen off the tallest skyscraper in Baltimore. Hannibal hit first. His back caved in, arms surrounding Will, drawing him closer into his chest. They inverted. Water rushed around their bodies, into Will’s nose, and suddenly the fall that had been a peaceful recognition was a thrashing fight for life.

Will’s legs kicked furiously, his fingernails gouging Hannibal’s back, trying to find some purchase. Anything. Will had tipped them over the edge, fate had decided. Now, soaked, cold, and surrounded by darkness he could not let the world take him. Hannibal was limp. Blood loss and the impact knocking him out. Will scrambled to find a better grip on the larger man. Either both of them were making it or neither of them. 

Will’s hands found his belt and kicking furiously brought them to the water’s surface. He gasped in the open air and for once that night everything felt still and in place. Stars were above and somewhere on that rocky cliff there was a dragon bleeding black. All sensation returned when another roaring wave crashed over their heads. Will considered himself a strong swimmer but he had one full grown man and all of their clothes dragging him down. 

He floundered, trying to find a way to simultaneously keep them up, keep Hannibal breathing, and keep them moving towards the shore. He may have given up at one point, floating there, breathing sharply, wishing that maybe the depths would take them. Was Hannibal already gone? Could Will survive in a new world where that was true?

The cold penetrated to the bone. There was no time out there, only foaming waves and sharp rocks. He treaded and he held the other man up and he wondered what the depths would be like. If their flight from the cliff had been a chance this was now a choice. And that choice was easy. How could he not look into those eyes after they had looked at him so softly, with acceptance, with love. So, he swam. 

He was panting by the time his toes touched any semblance of the bottom. His feet slipped and fought for purchase, all the while buoying the man in his arms. Maybe drowning wasn’t a worry anymore. Hannibal’s hair fell into his eyes, the wet mass clinging. Will couldn’t do much about hypothermia. He dragged his body forward now, barely any strength left. It hurt. It all hurt. But Hannibal’s body was finally safe, thrust upon the shore. Will pulled him fully out of the water. His skin was pale, his face bruised. Blood seeped from unseen wounds and water seeped from everywhere else. He was broken. Will wanted to cry, in relief, in grief, in everything he had every felt. 

He and Hannibal side by side, freezing on a beach. Is this poetic? Is this what I wanted for our ending? It didn’t matter what he wanted. Fate chimed in and Will’s head lolled to the side, his forehead almost pressed to his companion’s slack face. Hannibal’s closed eyes were the last thing he saw before a much more dangerous wave took him. 

Not one second passed before his eyes opened again. Not gazing on a rough beach, not on Hannibal’s limp hair, his unrestrained face, but on the clean empty sheets on the other side of his bed. He hadn’t sweat through the sheets in quite a while but most days he woke up with a persistent chill that wouldn’t leave. Early morning rays were cast upon his eyes and the dark shadows of dreams long gone were forced out. The light promised another sweltering day, another day with an empty apartment. But do you ache for him? 

Only food could fix this. His fridge was full now, and Will cooked often. He was even filling out, after the long period of rehabilitation. He pulled out the egg carton, the fridge door drifted shut and she appeared from behind it. 

“Morning, Will.” He gave a little grin, looking up from his work. She still wore a small scarf around her neck, despite the heat. “Sleep well?”

He chuckled with the little irony he still had, “No, nothing a little coffee won’t fix.” Sometimes he still felt like he clung to his disheveled professor persona, like he hadn’t left it far behind in the sand. They stood in companionable silence as he prepared everything for scrambled eggs. Breakfast food truly was a gift. 

“You should whip them all up beforehand you know, makes them fluffier.” She eyed the eggs he was about to crack straight into the pan.

“And where did you learn how to cook?” She had the same ironic grin as him, the same tense, bunched lift in her cheeks. 

“He used to show me, when he snuck me out of the hospital. Gave me something to do. I think he wanted to pass some of that knowledge on, he didn’t always want to be the only one in the know.” Yeah, sure. 

Will took his rapidly cooling breakfast to the table, sat right next to the window with Abigail to his right. He tried to raise an image in the chair across from him. 

“Do you ever think about him? Not Hannibal, that boy who used to be your son.”

A hushed sigh left him. “Probably not as much as I should. Wally… he seemed like he was scared at the end. I don’t know if he ever really thought of me as his dad. But I tried.” Until you left and didn’t come back. 

“Did he call you dad?” 

“If he did it wasn’t to my face.”

“Would you mind if I called you dad?” Will looked up from his eggs. She looked hopeful and older in the eyes than Will had ever actually seen her. “I mean, he always talked about it. How you and he were my caretakers now, how it would be like a family. I think I grasped onto those thoughts, when it felt like I would never really be free again.” 

“You said once that just because I killed your dad doesn’t mean I get to become him. Did you change your mind on that?” She looked at the ceiling, not wanting to think back and cry. 

“You’ll never be the dad I grew up with, obviously. But you and Hannibal care about me. You’re the only people still alive who care about me. So that’s what you really are to me.” 

No one would ever remember her how Hannibal and Will remembered her. No one had really seen her scared and nervous and powerful like they had. Everyone else was gone. The least he could do was behold what had become of her. 

“Yeah Abigail, I’d like that.” They grinned at each other, that bunched up grin. Neither of them needed to talk much, but when they did, they made it count. The rest of the meal was eaten in peace. Will looked up, the two chairs across from him streamed with light, little dust motes sitting there. He got up and got ready for his day. 

Opening the apartment door, the sun’s light hit his eyes, blinding him for a second. Blue spots appeared. Almost instantly the top of his head started absorbing the heat. At least he never had to wear teacher’s clothes here. It was almost as monotonous and normal as it had been on Sugarloaf key. He wasn’t totally alone either, people nodded to him in the streets, offering hesitant smiles. They knew his face, knew he couldn’t really speak Spanish, but knew he wasn’t a nuisance. No one paid much attention today, most people were muttering at street corners and in cafés. 

The walk wasn’t long. He had gotten the ramshackle apartment close to the beach for a reason. He didn’t have to wait long before walking in the door of the repair house, faced with an immovable man whose face was blocked by the newspaper. 

“Morning, Joel.” Will didn’t wait for a response, gliding into the backroom. The newspaper in Joel’s hand was splattered with more pictures than usual, but Will didn’t bother to look. 

“Señor Krewson.” It didn’t take him by surprise anymore, his new name. But it did leave something unsatisfied. He wanted to hear his name, his real name, the same way it had been softly spoken right before the drop. 

It was a good partnership. Joel had given Will the mechanic job almost on site. He had no kids, he was getting pretty old, and mostly just wanted to sit in the front of the shop all day gossiping with the men who passed by. He left Will to work on the motors and they almost never had to talk. 

Will was elbows deep into the most recent job. He pulled an arm out to wipe the sticky sweat off his forehead. Some oil came with it. It smeared across his fingers, getting in places that not even a good scrubbing would get out. He held it in front of his face, glistening in the low light of the shack. It really did look black. 

The blood was still black in the moonlight even after being seemingly purged by the ocean. Hannibal’s face was limp and wet, just as it had been when he initially passed out. Will reached for him, sore to the core. He flattened his hand on his chest. He was still warm. Blood seeped through his shirt from the gunshot, a void of blackness formed in his torso. Will must have swallowed some sea water. 

Will got to his feet, slowly, trying not to pull on anything, and stared at Hannibal from above. Who knew it would be so easy to make him low? There wasn’t time. Someone must have a dock and a boat somewhere along the private coastline. If Will could reach it, he could probably sail it far enough to seed doubts about where their bodies were. So he reached down, grabbed Hannibal’s limp arms, and pulled. 

“Ouch!” A sharp corner caught his thumb. Blood and oil mixed with sickening viscosity. Will pushed through to the back door, nudging the old creaking thing out of the way, and stumbled onto the sand. Another vast ocean was laid out before him. The water was much bluer and the sky much clearer than it ever had been up north. Sweat still coursed down his forehead. He ambled slowly to the water’s edge and kneeled down. He dragged his hands through the clear tide, swirls of red and brown dancing off. It stung and stung. He didn’t take his hands out ‘til they were clean again. His hands finally free, he lifted the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow. Salt above and salt below. 

A pulsing sound broke his reverie, the sand shifting with someone’s running steps. They were small and light. He turned to his left to see the neighborhood troublemaker on his way towards him. For the first time that day he smiled in a way that was more than content. 

“Hey kid, how’s it going?”

“Señor Robert! You won’t believe it! In the square, a body, it’s so gross!” He was smiling hard, apparently not gross enough. “It had flowers and their eyes were gone.” So that’s what had upended the newspapers and the corner store gossip. 

Will nodded his head, “Thanks kid, you should probably go home, wouldn’t want them to get you too.” He tossed an errant candy from his pocket at the kid. He gave a big grin and ran off. At least someone liked him here. 

He started to head inside, determined to finish that motor before closing today when he would fall back into bed and start all over tomorrow. But he had a stop to make before he could head home. 

Will pulled out his phone and tapped the one number saved to his contacts. 

“Hello, Will.” There was that softness.

“So, what’s for dinner?”


	2. Chapter 2

Every time Will ambled up to Hannibal’s swanky house in the middle of the city, he felt the still existent chasm between them. The façade towered over the street and anyone who passed could see it meant money. It didn’t matter how congenial the owner was, there was a marked difference between them. Will didn’t really care about the money, about the lifestyle. But regardless of their intertwined beings they were separate. Will wondered if he could find some way to bring the warmth of his farmhouse into Hannibal’s life.

As always, Hannibal opened the door by the time Will was on the first step. He stood at the entrance, smiling. He beckoned Will inside, the pied piper luring him in. Will dreaded every step but felt pulled to Hannibal’s grasp even more. Hannibal closed the door behind them, and their bodies swayed slightly, waiting for what the other would do.

Hannibal closed in slowly, trying not to frighten him, always looking him in the eye. When Will showed no sign of pulling away Hannibal wrapped his arms around his back, pulling him into his chest. Hannibal’s nose sat in his hair. His grip was strong. Slowly, Will raised his arms to his companion’s back. He never relaxed, not truly. The predator that held him was still a predator, even if he would rather savor than kill. And yet. Will’s hands bunched up in the back of his shirt. They couldn’t be closer.

Hannibal raised his hand to grip the back of Will’s head, breathed in deaply, and then pulled away. “A lovely night, isn’t it?”

“Well you’re not sweating the day away, but yeah, it’s a relief when the breeze comes in.” Hannibal never looked away.

“I always thought you preferred to sweat the day away. You get something real done. You create something, even if it’s not exactly art.” His head inclined towards Will at the end. _Could this damn cannibal be anymore obvious?_

“I’d prefer to enjoy the art than create it at the moment. Speaking of which…” Hannibal frowned. He adopted that stupefied host look for when something wasn’t quite right. “Don’t be coy Hannibal. I figured we could be direct with each other now. The body? In the square? Artfully prepared they tell me. I was wondering if you could regale me with the details.”

They moved languidly towards the dining room. It was smaller than in Baltimore, but still plenty of gruesome details to enjoy. A vulture’s skull graced the mantel while all sorts of reclining figures decorated the walls in Hannibal’s art. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been tied up in preparations for the show after all, I’ve barely made it outside. Unfortunately, if there is a body you’ll have to supply the details yourself. Of course, you don’t know the culprit?” There was some part of Hannibal’s face that indicated his true wishes with that statement.

“I haven’t even seen the body yet. Of course, I don’t socialize, so I haven’t heard much either. I suppose it doesn’t matter?” That soft curve to Hannibal’s eyes reappeared.

“I assure you Will, any local hick killer would pale in comparison to how you shine in the light. I find I have little interest these days.” Will blushed. The response was what he always hoped for. They had shared in other killers for so long, in truth they didn’t want to enchant the idea of others. Not when they had each other. “If you feel so inclined to pick up your own work, I would be happy to speak of it, like we used to.”

Will shook his head quickly. Obviously, Hannibal had no interest in other killers, especially what was likely a local rivalry or blood feud. “Good. I want to hear about you, dear Will.” He led him over to the table. The vulture skull stared blankly at him. “You make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the food.”

Perhaps just for old times’ sake Will tilted his head, raised his eyebrows, and shifted, “As you wish, Doctor Lector.” With the exception of his eyes, Hannibal didn’t move. They moved over Will, the same way Hannibal had breathed him in earlier. Without acknowledging those words, Hannibal swiftly headed into the kitchen. With a light smirk, Will dropped into his seat.

Hannibal had always used his home decorating skills to set a certain mood, that certainly hadn’t changed with the change in scenery. On the far wall, a portrait caught Will’s eye. It was full body. The subject seemed much less restrained than a usual portrait. His head was cast back, eyes almost closed. The cold light shone on his face. He was worshiping something.

The waves rocked against the boat. In honesty, he could barely feel it move. Everything was paralyzed, especially his body. Especially his mind in the face of this. Hannibal. Unmoving. Un-alive. This was antithetical to everything the villain had shown him before. A bullet through his side and masked wounds across his body. Hannibal had always been awake, vicious. A wound was cause for retribution. This version of Hannibal could no longer deal it out.

Limp and sapped of all energy, Will simply waited. He had found a boat. He had cast off. This should be the end of his responsibility. Hannibal should be teasing, philosophizing, and most importantly patching both of their wounds. Even when Hannibal was imprisoned he gave more input than this. Disturbing couldn’t cover it. Will was solely responsible for both of their lives, not just ending them either, but actively choosing to save them.

“He’s not dead yet.” Will jolted. Abigail stared down at him, angry, agitated. “You’re not going to let him just bleed out after all of that. You survived. Now you have to live with it. You don’t get to give up when we are so much closer than we ever were.” She looked like she wanted to cry. He wanted to cry. The smile on her neck was weeping.

“I don’t know how.” That hurt. “Even if I could stop the bleeding, I have no idea if he’ll wake up. He’s the one who knows what to do. Being shot doesn’t exactly qualify one to treat a gunshot wound.”

“He’s not the only one who knows.” Will is dumbfounded. _Not anyone we can trust._ But maybe…

“Alana,” he sighed. And there she stood. She wasn’t stark. She wasn’t broken and built back up. She was new and flowing. This Alana was summer when the last Alana he had seen was a dastardly winter. “You can help.” God, he sounded desperate. This Alana not only could help, she would help. She would help anyone, even a defiled profiler.

“Okay, obviously you have to stop the bleeding first.” Will nodded numbly, his own shirt was the victim in this as he unbuttoned the sopping thing and pressed it to Hannibal’s abdomen. “Great, now try to weigh that down while you go look for something to pack the wound, gauze is ideal.” Will scrambled out of his seat for the first time. This boat was owned by some private dock owning schmooze, they had to have a first aid kit onboard. It wasn’t under the mini stove, or the stairs. Will finally found it in the very back of the head cupboard.

“This isn’t going to be pretty.” She was so pale. “But you need to push the gauze into the wound, all the way, until it won’t go in anymore.” He’d done worse things than this. Pushing his fingers into the wound itself, being able to touch more than just Hannibal’s skin, maybe Will could understand a little of why Hannibal would delight in more than just his company. He was moving too slowly for the situation but the through and through wound was eventually packed. Will’s fingers were once again covered in someone else’s blood.

“You’re doing great, Will. You need to wrap the wound in something airtight now, make sure that if he has a punctured lung he can still breath until you get help.” _There’s no help coming._ He does it anyway, pulling saranwrap from the kitchen around the wound, lifting Hannibal’s torso to secure it underneath his body. Alana gazed mournfully at both of them.

“Will.” Oh god, that was her helping voice. “You don’t have to do it this way.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” And she was gone. He used her and left himself alone with Hannibal’s prone form. He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t die. _What if he doesn’t wake up?_ Will was cold, he just wanted the warmth of Hannibal’s embrace back. Will’s hand landed on top of the bullet hole, like it was the only thing holding Hannibal’s life in. This was the closest Will had gotten to praying in a long time. He slumped, feeling the weight of the ocean and gravity at once. His head fell forward, onto his companion’s shoulder. They couldn’t fall here. He wouldn’t let them. “Please.” His eyes squeezed closed. “ _Please.”_ He realized it wasn’t God he was praying to. A fluttering breath, the smallest shutter, and Will looked upon His face.

“Will?” Those shining eyes met his. Dinner was carried in his arms, and Will gave him an unrestrained smile.

“So, doctor, what’s for dinner?” Hannibal showed his love through his food. One could tell that Will was his breath and his heartbeat, just by being in the room. Hannibal would always take the chance to nourish this man, even if the meat wasn’t the most symbolic.

“Arroz con pulpo.” Honestly Will zoned out, as he assumed most did when Hannibal explained his dishes. This wasn’t a time to be educated about cuisine. It was a time to marvel at Hannibal’s own knowledge and opulence. “Not very traditional for Cuba I admit. Octopus is not as soft as chicken or pork would be but with enough attention and effort anything can be made delicious.”

Will took the meal into his mouth and wasn’t surprised at the complex flavors, textures, and feelings. Even when Hannibal gave him a plate of undiscernible origin it ended up beautiful. “It’s great. Octopus are very intelligent. Some question eating them because they can even outwit some humans.”

“Hmm. Their intelligence can hardly change our appetite, now can it, dear Will.” Will had nothing to say to that. So, he dug in and enjoyed what he could get.

They spoke of everything and nothing. Hannibal’s show was coming up, an exhibition of Argentinian painters. Hannibal had worked so long on it. They spoke of Will’s workshop and his familiarity with the kids of the neighborhood. The adults couldn’t be bothered to greet the newcomer. It was all very normal. It was like living their lives back in Baltimore. They had separate jobs, and social groups, and interests. The only thing drawing them together was themselves.

“Do you ever think about having another dinner party, with all of your fancy gallery friends?”

“It does hold a certain charm. Entertaining, and feeding are all great accomplishments for me. But I would be remiss if you were not somehow there. Mark my words Will, I am not attempting to start a new, separate life here. If you could not be involved, then I do not want it. But if you were amenable to attending, I’m sure I would enjoy it very much. I would enjoy preparing the feast with you as well.”

Will’s eyes drew together. He always drew back, at the mention of them killing together again. “I would love to support you, in everything. I’m not trying to live a new, separate life either. Everything is already so much cleaner and clearer than before. But I can’t prepare a feast with you. That’s your show, your pride. I will eat and I will enjoy. I will be here with you. But not that…”

There’s a frustration there, a misunderstanding. “Tell me Will, do you see your life going anywhere, moving towards anything? Do you have a goal, a specific scene to create? I wonder if you are standing still. After all of the events of the last few months I suppose it’s warranted. But you were never one to wait while others are grasping at their wants. I don’t want you to be held back by your wants, your needs.” Was he angry? Will could never tell. Hannibal couldn’t tell him what course to take, not anymore. But all the same Will wanted to please him.

“It’s not that I’m standing still. It’s that true stability, within myself, is necessary right now. I leaned on Molly for years to forget what had happened. I don’t want to forget this time. I want contentedness. I would sink into the sand to build stable walls around myself here, at least then I’d be warm.” It all came out so fast. Hannibal’s face held back, as if stung. He didn’t say another word. It appeared Will had warded off the inquiry on that front.

He never stopped pushing. He pushed forward into and around Will. In that moment he rose from his seat, a perfectly elegant figure. He crept around the table and approached from behind. For a flashing moment Will wondered if this was it. Would he wrap his hands around Will’s throat, gazing down into his eyes while life left? Would he plunge a hidden knife into his heart, only to extract it and reap the rewards? There was no fear in him.

In the end, Hannibal gently settled his hands on Will’s chair back and leaned in. “I think you’re hurtling towards something, dear Will. And I intend to catch you at the finish line.” Will almost wanted to lean his head back into his chest but steeled himself. He quickly rose and maneuvered to the other side of the table. Setting himself opposite of Hannibal, Will adopted the same position. His hands settled on the chair, ready.

“Would you fancy a night cap, Hannibal?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Let me clear the dishes. You go on ahead to the study.” And his back was turned to him. Will let out a breath. The study was opposite the kitchen and Will slogged through ideological muck to reach it. The logical part of him knew that he should maintain a distance from Hannibal’s indescribable intensity but that other, matter eating part of him wanted to get as close as possible.

Much the same had happened the first time Hannibal’s eyes had opened after their plunge. His limp face was still lolled back but those clear irises showed through. He was deathly still. Will felt the rumble of his chest under his hand when he mumbled, “Will?”

Will felt so much energy rush through him. “Hannibal!” His face showed some recognition. “Hannibal, we’re alive. We lived. I saved us.” _I damned us._ Hannibal never responded because the next moment saw his eyes roll into the back of his head, unconsciousness greedily hoarding him back. “Fuck.” Will wanted to collapse, to lay his uninjured cheek on Hannibal’s body and just give up. Drowning would have been easier than this. But he had to stay awake, to care for Hannibal, to live through this absurd life. Will had taken their lives and now he would give them back.

Some people would never allow that to happen. “Will.” That voice, so fucking expectant. Of course, when Will turned Jack’s angry face was waiting for him.

“Trying to get me back? Again? Really, you’d think that you would have gotten the hint, Jack. Let me go.”

“You’re talking crazy Will.” That didn’t sting like it used to. “We can salvage this. You got the Tooth Fairy, Hannibal is in your custody, and you’re alive. I’d say the operation worked. Now get back here so we can slap a commendation on your chest, and I can never see you again.”

There was no room for Jack in his heart anymore. “You _know_ that I can’t do that Jack. You pulled me back into this. You knew how I felt about it, how I’ve always felt about it.” _About him._ “It was only a matter of time.”

“What about your wife, your son? They’ll be looking for you, they may never move past this. Will, you’ve always come back from the edge.” Will had to laugh at that one.

“We’re far past the edge now, Jack. I pray to God that I never see you again because one of us will end up dead. You never understood what was going on in my head. Now I finally do. I’m not giving that clarity up. And better they think I’m dead than see what I always was. They deserve better,” _well certainly different,_ “than I am now. I won’t hide it, Jack.”

Jack looked resigned. Even he wasn’t convinced that his usual forcefulness would work. “I hope I never see you again either, Will.” And the specter was gone, leaving Will with his waterlogged decisions and a broken body. For the first time that night his slashed face stung.

The brandy in the study didn’t burn his mouth anymore. The wound on his cheek had healed up enough that he could eat and drink normally. He could even pretend it wasn’t there when he wasn’t moving his face. At any other time the scarred tissue pulled at his face, his smiles and frowns slightly lopsided. He had tried to grow a beard over it to disguise it, to little effect. There was a gleaming absence in his face now.

“You know I don’t mind it.” Hannibal, looking as demure as always. Will lowed his hand from that side of his face, where his subconscious had placed it.

“I’m not as pretty anymore.” There was an irony there. They had said these things before.

“But my dear Will, you are so luminous.” Neither of them could help the grins then. Being together, in any capacity, was cause for celebration for them. Back from the dead and now life was filled with Him. He didn’t totally engulf him, not yet.

Will handed Hannibal a glass of amber brandy and gestured to the sofa near the fireplace. They always seemed to brush by each other now. If skin came into contact it was a whisper. Their legs barely touched as they sat side by side. Hannibal kept his attentive posture while Will’s whole body eased back into the cushions.

“How is your apartment? Everything’s still to your satisfaction I hope.” Their gaze didn’t break.

“Of course it’s to my satisfaction, Hannibal. If anything, it’s too much. But it’s close to the beach and it’s as quiet as this place gets, so I suppose I can’t complain. It’s good to be so close to the waves again. I can just dig right in.” _Fall right in._ “I’m making things, life is constant again, and the only ghosts that haunt me were created by us.” That was said without ire. Will couldn’t bring himself to regret his conversations with his living ghosts, especially their daughter. “If what you’re really asking is if I want to live in the house again, then the answer is no.” Hannibal didn’t even flinch, maybe a bit of disappointment but not surprise. “I’m happy.” His eyes shown. “I’m not confused. I’m not being manipulated. And you’re here in my every day, not just in my mind. That’s good for me, Hannibal.”

“Of course. I would never want you to live here if you didn’t want that.” Hannibal made no comment on his happiness. “Well, if I can’t steal you away then would you consider coming to the show this weekend, as my guest? It will be splendid.” _You will look splendid._

“I would like to. What are you going to tell people, that the foreign man who works at the boat shop is your… something?”

“No one will question your involvement if you’re in the right apparel.” His eyes softened. This was the closest to puppy eyes that Hannibal goddamned Lector would ever get.

Will had to roll his eyes. “I don’t have any suits here Hannibal. That’s too short a time frame to get a fitted one.” Something in his demeanor was mischievous.

“Let me handle it.” That was a tone that brokered no argument and Will was well past arguing with him in this state. Once they had gotten through so many stressful situations, this hardly seemed like the hill to die on.

“Okay. Reluctantly. If it’s anything too ridiculous I’ll show up in oil stained flannel.” Something about Hannibal’s expression made it seem like he wouldn’t dislike that image. His smile was shining.

“It’s settled then. I’ll send the suit along when the tailor is done and pick you up at six.” Will just nodded, not bothering to ask how Hannibal had his measurements. He couldn’t much find the words anymore. When someone has been your therapist, murder motivational coach, and seductee there’s not much to talk about anymore. Then again, Hannibal could make a horrible analogy out of a chair leg. Either way, the silence vibrated with words, many said, many unsaid.

“I should be going.” He still hadn’t looked away. His glass was empty. Hannibal simply nodded but didn’t move, reluctant as ever to watch Will go. His constant companion for so long on the sea, it was hard to be parted from him now. He had had a taste of a colorful life. Now he still had the trappings of an interesting life, but not the person who made it worth it.

He was too close, the heat from Hannibal’s face reached Will’s cheeks. He bolted up from his seat. The glasses left behind, they made their way to that imposing foyer. Will never knew how to end their encounters. Was an embrace too much? He couldn’t shake the doctor’s hand like some acquaintance.

He settled on raising his hand to Hannibal’s shoulder, grasping it perhaps a bit too sharply. His eyes met his companion’s just as sharply.

“Good night, Hannibal.” He lingered there, their individual atoms swaying back and forth. Hannibal said nothing and Will pulled himself away, pushing himself through the portal into the real world. The door closed and their eyes didn’t meet again. For the first time that night the air left his lungs unrestrained.

He slowly ambled back towards his apartment. The façade of Hannibal’s house loomed in the background. Someday that shell wouldn’t feel so cold and distancing.

Will immediately stripped and fell into bed upon his return home. His last thought before the primordial dark took him? _God, I would kill for a dog._


End file.
